


flowers might bloom, even in the dark

by thornmarch



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Hanahaki Disease, Idiots who don't realise they're in love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-24 16:21:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21640882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thornmarch/pseuds/thornmarch
Summary: Hubert falls ill unexpectedly. How could this have happened, when he has taken every precaution to prevent such distractions?
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 47
Kudos: 446
Collections: Ferdibert Book Club, Ferdibert Ship Week 2019





	flowers might bloom, even in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> better late than never, right? i had this ready to go like a month in advance but then life came at me fast oops

It takes him by surprise the first time it happens.

Hubert is, of course, familiar with the malady. Its onset is sudden. There are rarely any outward signs before the initial event. One moment he’s delivering a report for the Emperor in her study and the next he’s nearly doubled over, retching as something forces its way up his throat. A forceful cough dislodges the object into his palm.

White petals.

They’d be quite pretty if not for the flecks of blood.

No, that can’t be right. There is no yearning in his chest, no emotions hidden and blooming unspoken between his ribs. It’s not possible. His heart hardened the day he vowed his loyalty to a malnourished girl with ghostly white hair, and there has been room for naught else ever since.

“Hubert? Are you quite alright?” Edelgard is up from her desk and resting a hand on his shoulder.

He tries to hide the petals in his cloak before she can see but in his haste a single one slips from his grip, drifting down to lie between them on the marble floor. Hubert shuffles one foot to cover it - too slow. Her eyes widen and he sighs, giving up on deception for once in his life, and unfurls his fingers to present the remaining evidence.

“Is this-?”

“Linaria bipartita, I assume.”

She frowns at him. “You know very well I am not inquiring as to the species of flower.”

“It’s nothing to worry ab-”

“How long?”

“My lady please this is really-”

“ _How long?_ ”

He shakes his head. “This was the first.”

Edelgard looks down to the sliver of petal sticking out from under his boot. He can see her counting, running through the old stories in her mind, teasing the truth from narrative embellishment, before meeting his gaze once more.

“Well,” she says, “would you - uh - w-would you like for me to lend you my ear?”

The emperor is asking if her most trusted advisor would like to tell her about his love life. It sounds like the kind of bawdy joke he might hear in a tavern in one of the seedier parts of Enbarr. Yet here she is, eyebrows furrowed in concern and a hand hovering over his shoulder.

This must be a nightmare. The sheer indignity of the situation should have been his first clue. Hubert von Vestra, struck down with an illness of the heart? Stuck in the situation of explaining this to the most important person in his life? Nonsense. It’s time to wake up.

He bites down hard on the inside of his mouth and the taste of copper spills across his tongue.

He doesn’t wake up.

Oh.

Her eyes go wide when she realises what he’s up to and she corrals him into her chair, keeping him penned in with a hand on each shoulder. 

“Hubert, this is serious.”

He finds himself unable to meet that violet gaze, so full of concern, and instead he stares at what little of the room he can see past her headpiece. Dust litters the shelves of her bookcases. He must have a word with the cleaners.

“Hubert?”

“I am aware of the severity of the affliction,” he replies.

Edelgard frowns down at him. When he finally manages to meet her gaze there’s something there he can’t quite read; soft but sad, the kind of expression he’s seen her wear when no one else is looking. 

“How did it escape my notice..? Forgive me, ruling takes up much of my time, but I never intended to neglect-”

He cuts her off. “You have neglected nothing, your majesty, I-”

“Hubert.” He snaps his mouth closed. There’s an edge to her voice and he can’t help straightening up in response. “Please listen. You are my most loyal minister, but I would also like to think that you are my friend, and I do not wish to see you suffer. If you wish to speak with- with-” she gestures vaguely with one hand, “ _whoever_ has captured your attention, I will assist you in whatever way I can.”

Flames take him. This is ridiculous. It’s a misunderstanding. He runs through a mental checklist of poisons, rattling off symptoms in a search for the toxin that can be mistaken for… _this_. But there’s nothing. Something else then? Perhaps an ill-advised prank? No, he would have noticed if someone had tampered with his morning meal.

It’s then that he notices Edelgard looking at him expectantly and, perhaps for the first time in his life, he’s unable to formulate a response to her unspoken question. He looks down and shakes his head.

She frowns. “It’s quite alright if you do not wish to identify the- uh- object of your affections.” The topic is clearly straining her, removed as it is from their usual conversations. “I’m afraid I do not have any advice to offer, but I am sure that Dorothea would be amenable if you were to ask her. Or perhaps Bernadetta? I understand her literature covers the topic quite extensively-”

“That will not be necessary,” he says. “I am quite capable of handling the situation.”

She raises one eyebrow at him. “You will handle it?”

“Yes.” It’s an obvious lie, but neither of them want to fight about it. Not just yet, anyway. There are months at least before such drastic measures would become necessary.

With a sigh she relinquishes her grip on him. “I suppose we should also begin work on a contingency plan for an alternative cure,” she pauses, flustering, before continuing, “not that you will need it. We must remain optimistic.”

“Quite,” he says, standing. “I will speak to Linhardt about any medical or magical remedies. You needn’t concern yourself with the matter.”

She nods. Another pause. She turns away to tidy the documents at her desk and he takes it as his cue to leave. 

“Hubert?”

His hand is on the doorknob. “Yes, your majesty?”

“Please do not deprive yourself for my sake. We have sacrificed enough. I did not burn down the old order for you to sacrifice yourself upon the flames.”

Something in his chest twists painfully and words once again escape him. He turns just enough to offer a stilted bow before fleeing her presence. It’s only when he’s halfway to his next meeting that he realises he hadn’t completed his report. 

Disgraceful. This whole ordeal is already impairing his ability to fulfill his duties. This is precisely why he had been so diligent in weeding out distractions whenever they appeared. He cared for others beside his Emperor, certainly, but any thoughts extending beyond camaraderie had been suffocated as soon as they surfaced. 

Evidently he had not been as thorough as he’d thought. Affection had burrowed into his heart and hidden itself there, festering, until this… _infection_ took hold. That it had occurred unnoticed was shameful. Worse still was that he had not the faintest idea who to blame for this mess. How could he be oblivious to such a thing?

No matter. He will simply push it aside. These are the concerns of a blushing schoolgirl, not a minister of Her Majesty. He can attend to the issue when his day’s work is done.

His next meeting is with Ferdinand and, to add insult to injury, he is already late. He raps sharply on the door to the Prime Minister’s office and is greeted immediately by a cry from within.

“Come in!”

Opening the door reveals Ferdinand scribbling away at his desk. He scratches out the last few words of what looks like a letter as Hubert closes the door, then throws his quill down and stands to offer a proper greeting.

“You are late, my friend! A most curious turn of events. Is aught amiss?”

The Prime Minister’s office is one of the nicer rooms for conducting official business. Bookshelves stretching from floor to ceiling line one wall, while directly opposite them sits a small unlit fireplace. Beside the hearth are two plush burgundy armchairs, a small table between them adorned with an ornate tea set. During the former Duke’s reign the walls had been the same colour as the chairs; Ferdinand has repainted with a light beige, making for a considerably less oppressive atmosphere. His desk sits at the far end of the room, behind which a window looks out onto the palace gardens.

The sun shines directly into the room at this time of the afternoon. Ferdinand rounds his desk and his hair catches the light. With the window to his back it almost looks like he’s glowing.

Hubert opens his mouth to unleash an appropriately acerbic response. His chest has other plans. Pain burns white hot and, perhaps it’s his imagination, but it feels like something in his ribs is too big for its cage and is trying to force its way out. He stumbles and immediately Ferdinand is there, steadying him, steering him over to an armchair. He collapses into it, cursing the indignity of it all. _Twice_ today he has been fussed over like an invalid. 

He concentrates on breathing. In, out. In, out. Slowly the pain begins to fade and he’s able to begin damage control.

At least there are no petals this time.

Ferdinand is crouched by his side, expression one of open concern. When he sees the attack has passed he moves to retrieve a pitcher from his desk, pouring a glass of water and offering it to Hubert. 

Hubert mumbles his thanks and drinks. 

“Are you alright?” Ferdinand asks. “Should I call Linhardt?”

He finishes his water before answering. “It’s nothing with which we should concern him.”

“Hubert, if you are unwell, if you have been _poisoned_ -”

He scoffs. “I am _fine_ , Ferdinand. You need not hover over me like a nursemaid.”

Ferdinand pouts, hesitating a moment before taking a seat in the other armchair. “Is it so wrong to worry? You looked as though you were in considerable pain.”

Something like gratitude swells in his chest, the gentle warmth of it chasing out the last of the pain. Being cared for by anyone other than her majesty is still a foreign feeling. It’s not unpleasant. 

“Your concern is unnecessary,” he says, pausing, “but appreciated.”

Ferdinand’s face lights up with a smile. “Well, that is something, at least. I assume you wish to continue on with official business, regardless of any ill health you may or may not suffer?”

“If you would be so kind.”

“Of course.” Ferdinand crosses his legs and leans back comfortably in his chair. “You’ll be disappointed to learn that I have no further updates since our ministerial meeting yesterday afternoon.”

Hubert frowns. “The cavalry ran drills this morning. There were injuries to neither men nor horse?”

“None.”

“Redistribution of titles and land is continuing apace?”

“You know it is. Edelgard would have told you if there were any issues.”

“And the negotiations for trade with Dagda?”

“Has not progressed in the half a day since I last spoke of it. Letters do take some time to reach their intended recipients, I’m afraid.”

Hubert sighs. “Of course.”

Ferdinand is still grinning at him. “Official business is concluded then?”

“So it seems.” He allows himself the smallest of smiles, watching as Ferdinand’s eyebrows creep up towards his hairline in the way they do when he’s expecting something. “I assume there is a reason you did not simply cancel our meeting, seeing as you seem to have predicted we would have nothing to discuss.”

Ferdinand _beams_ and, with his hair catching the light from the window, he’s so bright that Hubert has to look away. “Perceptive as always! I did indeed have ulterior motives in keeping my appointment with you today.”

“Do elaborate.”

“I want you to take a nap.”

Surely he misheard. “Excuse me?”

Amusement sparkles in Ferdinand’s eyes. “I am asking you, Hubert, to spend the remainder of your scheduled hour in this office asleep in that armchair.”

“No.” What an outrageous request! There is far too much to do for him to spend an afternoon lazing about like a cat. He starts to stand only for Ferdinand to practically catapult himself across the space between them, shoving him back into his seat.

“Forgive me, Hubert, but this is for your own good. When was the last time you slept?”

Three days ago, and more than a week since he’s slept for an entire night. “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.”

Ferdinand balks at him. “Of course it is my concern! You are a fellow minister of her majesty and my friend besides, and you are doing neither of us any good by running yourself ragged.”

Hubert glares at him and tries to wriggle his way upright but Ferdinand has his hands on his shoulders. Escape is impossible. “I am perfectly capable of managing my own sleeping arrangements.”

“You are unwell,” he counters, “and you will not claim otherwise - protest all you like but it will not change the fact that you nearly collapsed but a few short minutes ago.”

Hubert winces. Sleep will not aid his affliction, but he cannot rebuff the advice without causing suspicion. And what he really wants is for the other man to step back. His chest hurts from how rapidly his heart is beating at their proximity. He’s not used to having anyone so close. At least, not anyone he’s not currently in the process of stabbing.“Fine. At least allow me to return to my quarters.”

He doesn’t move. “You will stay here. I cannot otherwise be sure you are resting.”

“I could simply pretend to sleep.”

“At least you will not be working.”

“Ferdinand, I give you my word that if you allow me to leave-”

“Do not test me. I will pin you here if I must.” 

Ferdinand pushes against his shoulders to prove his point and a jolt of electricity runs down Hubert’s spine. He turns his rapidly reddening face away and hides behind his fringe. What has gotten in to him?

“Fine,” he says.

Ferdinand grins. “Would you like a blanket? I keep one in my desk for the colder months if-”

“That won’t be necessary. My cloak will do just fine.” He wriggles and, this time, is released. A sigh of relief escapes him as Ferdinand steps back.

It catches in his throat when the man kneels before him.

“What in the Flames are you doing?” He splutters, jerking his foot out of Ferdinand’s grasp.

Ferdinand looks up quizzically, as though he sees absolutely nothing wrong with his actions. “I am removing your shoes. You will wish to curl up in the chair; I can tell you from experience that it is the most comfortable way to sleep in them.”

Hubert can barely hear himself think over the frenzied beating in his ears. “I am perfectly capable of doing that myself.”

Ferdinand pauses to think for a moment and then startles, his cheeks flushing a light pink. “Y-Yes, how silly of me! You are a guest, not- not-” He shuffles backwards and stands, fidgeting with the sleeve of his coat. He doesn’t finish his sentence.

Hubert does his best to ignore the attention. He unfastens his shoes and slips them off, depositing them beside the armchair before curling his legs up underneath him. He nods to Ferdinand. “Well then.”

“Rest well, Hubert.”

He closes his eyes. A minute passes. He opens them again and Ferdinand is still standing there, worrying his sleeve between thumb and forefinger.

“Do you intend to stand over me the whole time? I assure you, I will not attempt to flee if you turn your attention elsewhere.”

“Right,” Ferdinand stammers, retreating to his desk. “I will be here if you have need of me.”

He closes his eyes and shifts so he can rest his head against the back of the chair. It is actually surprisingly comfortable. And, if he’s being honest, a nap will do him some good. It should help him to process the bizarre day he’s having, which will put him in a better position to manage this mess. Yes, sleep is exactly what he needs right now.

And he would not have realised it if not for Ferdinand’s meddling.

That warmth settles in his chest again. Perhaps it is not so terrible to be cared for, at least for the moment. He will have to procure more of that drab tea to express his gratitude.

\---

Hubert wakes to stiff limbs and the soft crackling of flames in the fireplace. He groans, disentangling himself enough to stretch, and looks around to find the office empty. The sky outside the window is dark.

He has grossly exceeded the allotted hour.

In his hurry to put himself to rights he nearly misses the note left on the side table beside his chair, only taking notice when his jostling knocks it to the floor. He seizes it, blinking furiously until his eyes are clear enough to make out the delicate script.

_Dear Hubert,_

_If you wake before I return, please accept my sincere apologies. Do not fret. Your duties have been attended to. Anyone who asked after your whereabouts was told you had been called away on urgent business of which I was not permitted to speak. I suppose that part is true, in a way. You very much seemed like you needed the sleep, and so I did not wish to wake you._

_Sincerely, Ferdinand von Aegir._

_P.S. I have kept some of that wretched bean water you insisted I try. You will find it in the left-most drawer. I heated the water in the kettle before I left so it should not take overly long to boil. You are welcome to use both, if you are so inclined._

He reads the letter over three times before crumpling it into a ball and throwing it into the fire. The parchment lands on the kindling and catches immediately, embers licking their way across white edges and turning them black. Then he sets the kettle on top and moves to find the coffee.

He wants to be furious. He wants to leave a strongly worded reply on the desk, rebuking Ferdinand for allowing him to sleep. He wants to track him down and threaten him, to loom over him until the Prime Minister has no choice but to shrink away in fear. What he is, instead, is slightly irritated and more than a little pleased. He is well rested, and warm, and his favourite coffee is waiting for him.

Hubert opens the desk drawer and finds a small tin, stashed amongst a handful of sachets of southern fruit blend tea. He plucks it from its resting place and turns it over in his fingers. Ferdinand had asked, one day, to try this particular blend. Hubert had warned him that it was far too bitter but the foolish man had persevered, grimacing with each sip. He smiles, recalling how Ferdinand exclaimed that he had said he would try the coffee, and it would be a shame to let the rest of the mug go to waste. Hubert had offered to drink the remainder if he couldn’t stomach it, which had Ferdinand nearly spitting out his mouthful.

All at once the pain is upon him. There’s something in his throat that doesn’t belong, that needs to come out, and the force of his retching throws him against the desk. Papers and quills rattle to the ground as he tries to keep himself upright. He heaves. Wheezes in a breath through his burning lungs. Coughs as he tries to force it out. With one final, excruciating splutter, a handful of petals fall from his mouth to the desk.

Still panting, he stares down at them. There are at least ten petals. Each one is a perfect white except for the speckles of blood lining their edges. The parchment they landed on is ruined. Spit and blood has soaked in and made the delicate script impossible to read, and so he takes the entire page and flings it all into the fireplace.

Why? Why has this affliction taken him? Has he not dedicated himself sufficiently to her majesty? She had asked him not to deprive himself on her account, but he cannot in good conscience accept her request without knowing what he is supposedly depriving himself _of_. 

He curses to himself as he crouches to begin cleaning up the mess his fit had caused. As terrified as he is that Ferdinand will return to find him fetching a report from halfway across the room, something in him is more frightened that leaving everything as is will have the impression that he swept everything off the desk on purpose - that Ferdinand had been kind to him, and Hubert repaid that kindness by trashing his office.

He sets everything right, makes sure his hair is not entirely disheveled, and stalks from the room.

\---

Hubert goes to see Linhardt in the morning, only revealing the problem after the perpetually sleepy man swore to secrecy upon pain of death.

“Theoretically I can concoct a cure,” Linhardt yawns, “but there’s no way to know that it will work, or what the side effects would be.”

“Side effects?” Hubert asks. He’s leaning against the counter in Linhardt’s ‘office’, for lack of a better word. The room is narrow and has a low ceiling. He’s fairly sure it used to be a storage closet, if the tiny window is anything to go by, and that Linhardt had it renovated specifically to minimise the amount of time visitors would want to stay. The only furniture is a desk and chair, a bed, and an overstuffed bookcase.

Linhardt nods. “Now I’m only going off the legends here, but the few stories that include a cure always mention a cost. Sometimes the afflicted gives up the ability to love ever again,” he pauses, holding his hands up to stop Hubert from answering. “Yeah, not a problem, I know. The thing is, though, that we’re not targeting the disease itself with a cure. We’re going after the root cause.”

Hubert furrows his brow. “I assume you are going to get on with it and tell me what exactly is the problem with that approach.”

“Do you have an afternoon to discuss human emotion on a theoretical level?”

Hubert crosses his arms and glowers with all the force he can muster.

“Fine,” Linhardt sighs, shaking his head. “Emotions, feelings, whatever - they don’t exist in a vacuum. The kind of, uh, _intense yearning_ ,” he pauses, squinting at Hubert as though he expects this to be an elaborate prank, continuing when no such confirmation arises, “isn’t the kind of thing that just happens. It builds over years. So, it follows, that to remove the affliction, we must remove the experiences that led to it in the first place.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

Linhardt blinks at him. He speaks slowly, as if to a child, “Your memories, Hubert. If a cure robs you of your experiences, then it is taking your memories.”

Hubert considers his options. To be rid of the distraction entirely would not be objectionable. There is, however, no guarantee that a cure would not instead leave him amnesiac and, given that he still has no earthly idea who is causing this predicament, he cannot say that it would not have dire consequences for the empire.

“There’s no need to decide right away,” Linhardt says, suppressing a yawn. “I’ll start working after my afternoon nap. A cure will be useful to have, even if you don’t end up using it.”

Hubert nods. “Then I shall take my leave.” He stops just short of the door, turning to fix the other man with a glare. “And remember, if you dare tell anyone about this-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Linhardt waves him off as he crawls onto his bed, “death and poison and torture and all those wonderful things. I heard you the first time.”

“As long as you understand.” And with that, he sweeps out of the room.

\---

Hubert does not accept the cure. 

His health deteriorates rapidly in the following weeks. The amount of petals forcing their way from his lungs increases almost daily until he’s coughing up entire flowers. Perhaps it is proceeding so quickly as a punishment for his complacency? After all, he had buried these feelings so deeply that not even he had realised they were there. 

Being confined to his room certainly does not help matters. There are only so many reports to read and letters to write before he is left to his own thoughts.

Her majesty has insisted that it’s no trouble, but he knows otherwise. Even someone as capable as Edelgard von Hresvelg would struggle to run an empire alone. But, no, there are people she can rely on. She will be fine. They have long had contingency plans for his eventual demise. The empire will go on without him.

A knock at the door startles him. Everyone is under strict orders not to bother him. They are under the impression he is slaving away on some top secret _something-or-other_ and that to disturb him would be to invite death.

“Hubert? Please answer me, if you are in there. I’ve brought coffee and I would rather it did not go cold.”

Ferdinand. Of course it’s Ferdinand. He drops the book he’s reading to glare at the door. “I’m not taking visitors.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You will let me in, and if you do not I shall knock the door down. Won’t that be fun to explain to the servants?”

Hubert growls and stalks over to let the idiot in. He’s not convinced Ferdinand would have gone through with the threat, but his caterwauling in the hall is sure to alert unwelcome ears.

Ferdinand saunters in and inspects the disheveled state of the room with a grimace. It’s certainly seen better days. The only part of the sitting room that can said to be in proper order is the fireplace. Every surface is covered with the evidence of his restless confinement, from the stack of books by the sofa to the rings left by mugs on the end table beside it, to the old reports scattered across the floor. The curtains are drawn. Ferdinand surveys it all with nose scrunched in distaste, and he sets the tray with their drinks down on the table.

“I am not surprised you didn’t want visitors,” he says. When he turns to face Hubert his eyes are dark with concern. “Oh Hubert you…” and he trips over the words, worrying his lower lip with his teeth. “It would be rude to say that you look awful, but there’s really no other way to phrase it.”

Well. He hasn’t bothered looking in a mirror lately, but if he looks half as bad as he feels then it’s probably true.

“Thank you for the coffee,” he says, “now kindly leave.”

Ferdinand raises an eyebrow at him. “What, or you’ll force me out? You’re in no state. After your incident in my office I suspected you may have fallen ill. It appears that the situation is even worse than I feared.”

Hubert tries to shrug off the concern but standing leaves him feeling faint, so he moves to sit on the sofa, taking the mug of coffee from the tray without thinking. “Am I not allowed to fall sick? Despite the rumours, I am human.”

Ferdinand tuts and sits beside him. “Of course you are allowed. I am more concerned that you do not allow _yourself_ to be ill. I have seen you work through more than one cold, and I worry that one day some sickness will win that particular battle of attrition.”

He worries? Surely he has more important things to worry about, though the sentiment is appreciated.

“As you can see,” Hubert says, gesturing around at his growing mess of a room, “I am resting. Her majesty sends those reports she cannot delegate and not a page more.”

Ferdinand makes a face, but there’s no malice behind it. “So I see. I must commend you for that, at least.”

The coffee he’s brought is the same brew that Hubert had failed to drink that day, and he lets the aroma wash over him. It’s rich, and bitter, and it reminds him of all the times they’ve sat like this. He takes a sip and sighs as the warmth runs through him. Perhaps some company would not be so terrible after all.

“Thank you, Ferdinand,” he says into his mug. “I know I don’t say it enough, so thank you. For all that you have done for the empire and her majesty. For all that you have done for me.”

Ferdinand clasps his hands in his lap and his gaze falls to the floor. His cheeks are pink from the heat of the fire. “Of course, Hubert. You are always welcome.”

Familiar pain lances through Hubert’s chest and he hurries to set his mug on the table before it takes him completely. He clatters to the floor. Everything is white hot and burning, and as he heaves he’s dimly aware of a hand on his shoulder. Someone is shouting. Ferdinand probably. He can’t hear him over his retching and his heart hammering in his ears. He coughs one tiny, white flower onto the carpet and then a second, third, fourth. The fifth lodges in his throat and he gags on it before spitting it into his hands.

He rolls over to lie on his back. Chest heaving, he concentrates on counting the tiles on the ceiling until his breathing slows enough for him to get his bearings. The pain slowly subsides.

And is replaced instantly by panic.

Ferdinand. He saw the whole thing.

Hubert swivels his head, searching. The man in question is kneeling beside him and clutching desperately to his hand, thankfully the one that isn’t covered in spit and petals. The look on his face is… Sadness? Horror? Pain? Something in between all three, and it slides between his ribs like a knife.

“Ferdinand,” he starts, but nothing else seems to follow. 

Ferdinand squeezes his hand, his features smoothing into a soft smile. “No wonder you didn’t want anyone knowing you were ill.”

He gently encourages Hubert up from the floor and onto the sofa, and Hubert allows himself to be guided, lying down as instructed.

Ferdinand places a hand on his shoulder. “Now rest. I will do some tidying, and I expect you to get some sleep.”

Hubert wants to fight. He wants to tell him to leave, that he needn’t go through the trouble, but he is exhausted. So instead he nods, and closes his eyes.

Ferdinand leaves his side and starts collecting the various papers strewn around the room. He hums as he works, the gentle melody soothing Hubert to sleep.

\---

After that, Ferdinand stops by everyday to check on him. He brings coffee and busies himself cleaning, or simply sits and reads. Sometimes he borrows Hubert’s desk and stays there for hours, working well into the night. 

He helps Hubert through his fits. He mixes medicine to dull his pain. He sits with Hubert and tells him all of the developments he’s missing in the empire.

Not once does he ask about his illness.

The amount of flowers in each fit has increased, as has the blood. They come every other hour. He’d summoned her majesty to tell her that his time was short and she had nodded solemnly. The old plans were in place. She would carry on. All that remained, then, was to wait for the end.

Hubert is bundled up in bed. His chest rattles with each breath and it hurts, it _hurts_ , so much more than he thought it would. He’s been poisoned before and it was honestly preferable to _this_.

Ferdinand finishes mixing his medicine and helps him drink, holding the glass steady, then sits beside him on the edge of the bed. “Do you need anything else? Just say the word, and you shall have it.”

Hubert shakes his head. “No, thank you. You have done more than enough.”

Ferdinand takes his hand. He’s wearing that sad smile again, and Hubert has yet to place the emotion behind it. “You may very well be on your deathbed. If there’s a time for selfish requests, it’s now.”

“Fair,” he chuckles, halfway between a wheeze and a laugh. “I may have one favour to ask.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” he sighs. “There are infinitely more important things to do than play nurse for the emperor’s shadow.” No, he can do better than that. He can manage a little honestly. “Why have you wasted your time with me when you could be gallivanting about in the sun? And please do not misunderstand. I have appreciated - still appreciate - your company, but I am at a loss as to why you have gone to such lengths for- for someone like me.”

“Someone like you?” Ferdinand blinks. “I am afraid I do not know what you mean.”

He sighs and runs a hand over his face. When he’d asked the question he had expected an answer, not for him to have to explain how he had learned to never expect to cared for. Until recently, most everyone he met either despised him, saw him as nothing more than a tool to be used, or both. Lady Edelgard alone had treated him as human. She was the only one who looked at him and did not see a monster, but a man willing to do what was necessary to achieve the world he believed in. 

But she was his liege. She would not offer him tenderness, even had he desired it. It was not an emperor’s place to kneel at her retainer’s bedside. To tend to his wounds. So no one had done those things. He did not expect to be cared for. He did not need it. And so it confused him to no end that someone with such boundless potential as Ferdinand would willingly sit by him and read to him softly as he withered away in the dark.

He cannot say all that. It’s too much. So instead he offers, “I have been compared, on more than one occasion, to a spider. Most people do not choose to spend time with spiders. They throw them into the garden, or smite them with their shoes.”

Ferdinand snorts. “Yes, I’ve heard people say that.” He turns Hubert’s hand over in his own, tracing a scar down the inside of his palm with his thumb. “And perhaps I agreed with them once, but I have not thought you a spider for quite some time.”

“Then what am I, if not a spider?” He asks. The gentle touch sparks a warmth in his chest. It soothes the pain, if only for a moment.

“Really, Hubert?” Ferdinand laughs. “You are the most unobservant spymaster in all of Fódlan.”

Slowly, slowly, Ferdinand raises Hubert’s hand to his lips. He hesitates a moment, unsure of himself, before planting a soft kiss on his knuckles.

“To me,” he says, his voice whisper-quiet, “you are simply Hubert von Vestra. You are a man of terrible taste. You are the most infuriating man I have ever met. And when you pass from this world, you will leave a hole in my heart that none can hope to fill.”

Somewhere in Hubert’s mind, he is dimly aware that such a confession requires an answer. That part of him is drowned out by the rest of his mind screaming. He can’t tell if it’s the good kind or not.

Ferdinand… cares for him? Romantically? This beautiful, radiant, imbecile of a man has laid his affections with the emperor’s shadow? And said shadow, infamous for his spy network and for knowing everything worth knowing about everyone, failed to notice? The very thought is preposterous.

He would think himself dreaming if not for the rattling of his own breathing.

“I fear I have imposed enough already,” Ferdinand begins, “but may I ask a favour in return?”

Hubert nods. He’s not sure he could manage the words.

“Who has left you in such a state?”

He wants to scream. He wants to set himself alight. If he knew the answer, would he still be choking on petals and blood?

“I don’t know,” he rasps.

Ferdinand frowns. “If you are concerned that I will tell them, then you have my word that I shall not. It must be painful. I will not press you if you do not wish to share.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “No, Ferdinand. I have no name to give. I truly do not know.”

A single tear rolls down Ferdinand’s cheek and he wipes it away with his sleeve. “I see. How cruel the gods are.”

“I wouldn’t know. We deposed them, remember?”

“Of course,” he laughs, half sniffling, before collecting himself. “But I have kept you long enough. You must sleep.”

Hubert groans. “I slept all day. Another few minutes won’t hurt.”

“Sleep.” He squeezes Hubert’s hand once more. “And, while it may not chase the affliction from your lungs, I hope that my affection might at least soothe your heart. You are not unloved.”

“The sun falling in love with the spider?” Hubert yawns. “It sounds like a child’s tale.”

Ferdinand smiles, pulling the blankets up to his chin. “I’m the sun?”

“You have this annoying habit of brightening everything around you.”

He shakes his head. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was a compliment.”

“It was.”

“Rest, Hubert,” he laughs. “I will see you tomorrow evening, and if you still feel like praising me, then I intend to hear every word.”

Yes. Rest. He has much to think on. He can feel the medicine beginning to loosen the roots in his chest, and so he closes his eyes. Sleep evades him just long enough to hear Ferdinand slip from the room.

And then it all fades away.

\---

Hubert wakes to soft morning light creeping under his curtains. He blinks to clear his eyes. Stretches. Sits up and blinks again. Slowly, the events of last night return to him.

Ferdinand. A kiss pressed to his hand. The warmth of being cared for. 

The warmth of being loved.

Heat rises to his cheeks. This is unfamiliar territory for him. How is he supposed to react? Is the point not moot, with flowers blooming in his chest?

He takes a deep breath to steady himself.

It doesn’t hurt.

Suspicious, he swings his legs out of bed and tries walking the length of the room. No pain. His muscles are a bit cramped from disuse, but otherwise are no worse for wear. Moving about no longer leaves him gasping for air.

He’s cured.

But how? He never managed to figure out- Oh.

He really is the most unobservant spymaster to ever live.

Hubert throws on what he can find of his usual clothes. His undershirt is crumpled and covered in wrinkles, and he’s missing a sock, but none of that matters. He throws his cloak over his shoulders and all but sprints through his quarters and out the door.

The palace hallways are blessedly quiet at this hour. He makes it to his destination unimpeded and hammers on the door.

“Yes?” A startled voice calls from within. Armoured footsteps clatter inside and someone fumbles with the knob. The door opens to Ferdinand in his riding gear, face flushed from his usual morning jaunt.

His eyes widen when he sees who has disturbed him. “Hubert? What are you doing out of bed? You should be resting, you should-”

Hubert all but pushes past him, slamming the door behind them. “I’ve solved the mystery.”

“What mystery? What are you-”

Hubert grabs his face, as gently as he can manage in his fervor, and presses his lips to Ferdinand’s.

It’s an artless kiss. He has no experience to draw on. Their teeth clash and Ferdinand yelps, jerking away from him.

Hubert pulls back. “I- I am sorry, I-”

Ferdinand cuts him off, throwing his arms around his neck and dragging my back down. When their lips meet this time it’s soft, and slow, and it makes Hubert’s heart flutter in a way he hasn’t felt before.

When Ferdinand pulls away, his face is almost as red as his hair. “Oh.”

Hubert fidgets with the cuffs of his gloves. “Yes.”

Ferdinand twirls a lock of copper between his fingers. “I am glad you figured it out.”

“As am I.”

“We should- We should probably talk about this,” he laughs.

Hubert nods. “I- Yes. Yes, we should.”

“Not now,” Ferdinand smiles, reaching out to clasp his hands. “There’s no rush. And I am sure that you would like to report to Edelgard as soon as possible.”

“Tonight, then,” Hubert agrees. “We can… have tea.”

“I have missed our teatime,” Ferdinand beams. He reaches up to straighten Hubert’s collar, the other man shivering at his touch. 

Hubert catches his hands and squeezes them once more before turning to leave. There is so much to catch up on, and he’s ready to throw himself into it all.

Especially now that the sun himself will be waiting for him at the end.


End file.
